How do you mourn someone you never met?
You start by crying in your doctor’s office. I learned of Tonya Oaks Smith’s death during an interminable wait for my primary care provider. As I scrolled through LinkedIn, I saw a mutual colleague had posted a tribute to her. Tonya and I are—were—due for our monthly mentoring call next week. I planned to text her after my doctor's appointment to see if she was feeling up to it . I knew Tonya was ill—she’d told me as much before our March call a few weeks ago. But I didn’t know it was the untreatable kind of ill.
As I drove home through tears, I thought about her husband and her daughter. I thought about our last conversation in February. She was about to finish her dissertation and told me about the last few hurdles she had to clear before officially becoming Dr. Tonya. She asked how I was faring in my first month back to work after maternity leave and how my kids were doing. I asked about her sister and her new baby. (We were on roughly parallel pregnancy journeys last year, and I like to think I partially repaid Tonya for her mentorship by providing oodles of baby gear recommendations.)
We finished our hour of conversation with a laugh, promising that, in our next call, we’d actually talk about work—the reason our friendship began in the first place.
Tonya co-chaired and presented at a conference I attended in 2016. I wish I could remember the topic—but honestly it was her candor and personality that blew me away. After her presentation, I followed @MarleysMom on Twitter and admired Tonya's work and wit from afar. That’s why I was thrilled when, a couple of years later, I was paired with her through a mentoring program for higher ed communications professionals.
We set up monthly calls for 10 a.m. every second Monday. The calls persisted through the pandemic and through my job changes from Hopkins to UNCW to full-time freelancer. Our conversations meandered seamlessly from the professional to the personal and back again. There was never a call without a ton of laughter—Tonya’s ability to poke fun at the higher ed industrial complex we both relied on for our livelihoods was unrivaled.
But there was also incredible support. Tonya was a rock for me when the job I thought was my “perfect next career step” turned out not to be. She listened as I talked through my anxieties about what “people” would think about me leaving that job, and about walking away without another job already lined up. In slightly more colorful language, Tonya said, “Screw those people, go with your gut.” She shared experiences from her own life to demonstrate that careers don’t have to take straight paths to be successful. And she promised to be there for me when the going got tough.
She always was. In our February call—the last time I’d hear her warm and comforting Southern drawl—I talked through my anxieties about being able to balance my business and my new role as a mother of two. My first month back to work after maternity was a battle. I felt like I was failing at both working and parenting. I could never fully focus on one because I was being pulled in the direction of the other. I considered pulling back on work, but I was concerned that I’d be judged for it.
Tonya listened to me prattle on for about 15 minutes. Then, as ever, she gave it to me straight: The battle was just beginning. She told me about the hard choices she and her husband had to make to take care of their daughter when she was very young, more than two decades ago. Balancing jobs and child care was a bumpy road for a couple of years, and it led to her choose a different career path to help make that balance achievable. But, she promised, it was achievable. “Success” for me might look different than it did five or ten years ago, but it would come. I just needed to, once again, say “Screw those people, go with your gut.”
I promise to live that advice, Tonya. I'm heartbroken that I won’t have our monthly calls to hold me to it, though. I'm heartbroken that I’ll never have the chance to meet you in person, to hug you, and to thank you for the way you’ve shaped my life over the past five years.
Sending my love to her husband, her daughter, and all those who loved her.
Rest well, Dr. Tonya. You’ve earned it.
You can learn more about Tonya and her truly impactful life here.